Camaraderie
by teethlikedog
Summary: Betrayal is a quiet thing. [Gren gen]


My take on Gren's trial, after being accused of spying on Titan. A tad melodramatic towards the end, but Gren said himself that he started to go crazy after finding out Vicious had testified against him, so meh.

**Camaraderie**

_"You said that you didn't need comrades, but I'm attracted to that word, to the point of tears"  
_-- Gren, Jupiter Jazz, Part 2

They led him to a room under armed guard - a small chamber, not a proper courtroom, containing nothing but a long table and the men seated behind it. Dress uniforms, all pressed pleats and shiny buttons; eyes accusing, judging. This was a court-martial, they told him, not a regular trial. Different rules applied; there was no jury, just them. And he saw, looking into those cold accusatory eyes, that they had already judged him. He was guilty by decree, and, standing there with bowed head, he knew there was nothing he could do.

"Eckener, Grencia. Private First Class. Serial number A-K-3-7-4-4-2-G."

They looked at him expectantly. Yes, that was him. What did they want him to say? Gren nodded dully, letting strands of hair fall into his eyes, irrationally wanting to shield himself from those stares.

"You stand accused of espionage - "

_This can't be happening. It **can't** be._

" - of passing strategic information regarding troop movements to enemy military forces - "

_I never, I wouldn't..._

" - of conspiring with said enemy forces - "

_This is all wrong! It wasn't me! There must be a mistake - I wouldn't..._

The rest of what they said was lost on him. His mind screamed at him that this wasn't right, while in the background the litany of his supposed crimes droned on.

_How could they think I'd betray them - betray my comrades? I would **never** do that..._

"Private Eckener!"

The voice was harsh, impatient. Gren looked up; the man was drumming his fingers sharply on the smooth wood of the table. How long had they been addressing him for? Everything seemed surreal, his reactions slowed somehow, like he was moving underwater, and it was an effort to respond.

"What?"

"How do you plead, Private?" Clipped, brusque tones - he was keeping them waiting.

"I didn't do it."

"So you plead not guilty, then?"

The lawyer stood up at that point. _His_ lawyer - the one they'd appointed him - he'd said something to Gren earlier in the cell. Plead guilty, he'd advised. Tell them you were coerced, and they might go easier on you. Now he cleared his throat and spoke knowingly, a condescending smirk on his lips.

"Ah, what my client _means_ to say - " he began.

"I didn't do it," Gren repeated, louder this time, cutting across the man's voice. They had to know he was innocent, that he hadn't betrayed them - that was all that mattered. The lawyer shot him a brief exasperated glare, then shrugged and sat down again.

"State your plea, Private. Guilty or not guilty?"

"Not guilty."

He was taken back to the cell then. It was small, brightly lit and too warm, the air baked dry by the heating system. It was standard procedure, he was told, that the defendant not be there while the case for the prosecution was presented. Gren didn't think he could have handled it anyway. There was too much in his head, too many thoughts buzzing around, incessant, insectile.

He wondered who had told them he was a spy. Who would stand up there and lie, and say: yes, Gren Eckener is a spy, I swear to you. What evidence did they have? And who had accused him? That was what it came down to, really, wasn't it? Who would betray him? Not one of his comrades - they had fought and bled and suffered on Titan, all of them together. None of them would betray a fellow soldier, any more than he would. So who?

He had no idea how long he waited. They brought him food, but he couldn't touch it; he was exhausted but couldn't sleep. He just sat there, staring at the walls, until they came to get him again.

"Come on," the guard said, not unkindly. "It's time for your testimony."

The corridor seemed to go on forever, just one leaden step after another. Surely it hadn't been this long before? But now it seemed to Gren he'd been walking for hours, staring at the grey-white floor under his feet, listening to the echoes of the guards' footsteps on either side of him. His mind was numbed, his thoughts dull, moving at the speed of glaciers.

And then there were more footsteps, coming towards him. Soft footfalls, careful as a cat's. Gren raised his head slowly.

Pale skin, pale hair, pale eyes.

"Vicious," he remarked distantly, not questioning or calling, just stating a fact. Vicious was here. Why? Wasn't he meant to be gone home, back to...where was it again? Not here, anyway.

Those colourless eyes flickered in his direction, met his gaze for an instant, and then Vicious was gone, swept past with scarcely a glance. Had he really been there, or was it just Gren's imagination, fevered by pain and confusion and days without sleep? No time to wonder, as he was ushered into the same room to face the same panel of stern faces. The lawyer was talking again as he entered.

"There is only one witness for the defense - Private Grencia Eckener."

_Only one witness for the defense... _

_Vicious was here. _

_Only one witness... _

_Who betrayed me? _

_Only one... _

_Walking past with scarcely a glance. _

_Only one... _

_Betrayed by a comrade. _

_Only one... _

_Vicious..._

There were questions they asked him. Why did he do it? When did it start? Were there any others? How did he relay the information? So many questions that clamoured in his head; voices rang in his ears, faces blurred in his vision as the room swam in and out of focus. He had only one answer: I didn't do it.

They didn't believe him.

"Eckener, Grencia. Private First Class. Serial number A-K-3-7-4-4-2-G. You have been found guilty on all counts of espionage and conspiring with the enemy."

"No!"

They ignored him and kept talking.

"You are hereby sentenced to be dishonourably discharged, and you are furthermore to serve a period of no less than five years, no more than seven, in a secure military prison - "

"No!" He didn't recognise that desperate, pitiful voice - was it his? He had to get out of here; he threw himself forward, lurching aimlessly, and then somehow he was pinned to the floor with an arm twisted behind his back. They continued to pass sentence, oblivious, trussing his life with their words.

"No..." he whimpered to the floor. This couldn't be real.

Then suddenly he was hearing that tune, its bittersweet notes unfolding themselves inside his head with pin-sharp clarity. He lay there with his face against the cold tiles, the melody echoing in his mind; but instead of dying away, the echoes came back louder and louder until they were nearly deafening, making him grit his teeth in pain. Sweet and simple and excruciatingly loud, it played over and over, the soundtrack of his betrayal.

And as they dragged him, unresisting, to his feet, and as the music shrilled agonisingly in his head, a vision of pale eyes fleeted across the landscape of his remembrance. And somewhere inside, he screamed.


End file.
